


Steady as It Goes in Eden

by DoubleMastectomy



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys: California (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accidents, Delusions, Depression, Established Relationship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Party Poison (Danger Days), Paranoia, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, Unhealthy Relationships, no one in this fic is well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23445220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleMastectomy/pseuds/DoubleMastectomy
Summary: Party Poison doesn't know how things got so bad, but things did. Without the rebellion, they're depressed, abandoned, and hopeless, traveling the Zones looking for something that'll make them feel anything.And now with nothing left to lose and nowhere else to go, they desperately turn to their old friends, the Ultra V's, for help.Part of a "Party Poison Ruins Everything" au, see tags/notes for full context.
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Jet Star (Danger Days), Party Poison (Danger Days) & Val Velocity (Fabulous Killjoys), Val Velocity/Vinyl/Volume (Fabulous Killjoys)
Comments: 89
Kudos: 32





	1. Before When Things Were Like Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Context:
> 
> This is part of an au we've been affectionately calling the Party Poison Ruins Everything au. It's an everyone lives au where the Fab Four, Dr. D, Cherri, and Volume never die. Instead, the Fab Four meet the Ultra V’s early on and more or less adopt them, with Party Poison acting like an older brother to Val Velocity specifically. This found family relationship continues throughout established canon, and that canon has minimum changes besides the obvious.
> 
> This fic takes place post-comics and after the BL/i collapse. And it takes place in a bad timeline. (obviously).  
>   
> A sister fic/alt ending fic by my friend Nine is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23436124 (will be linking that at the end of this fic as well!)

Party Poison was a child of violence. Their whole life was spent devoted to a cause: a fight to escape BL/i, a fight to survive BL/i, and then the fight against BL/i itself. It was everything they were.  
  
When they drove down the sunny roads at top speed, their closest friends in the seats next to them, singing along to the balls to the wall punk til their throat bled, that was them. That was their life. It was everything they were born for.  
  
Shaving undercuts at 3 am, laughing with their family over shared Power Pup, bickering with the others in a booth of the Diner, it was all in good fun. And it was fun, it was the best life they could’ve asked for. Even the unsavory bits, shooting dracs and mending wounds, just made the rest of the nonstop party worth it.  
  
So they couldn’t understand why everyone else just stopped.  
  
With Bl/i gone, so quickly, too quickly, Poison had nothing left to ground themself. In an instant, in a boom, there was no more collective enemy, no more cause to fight for. No one else seemed affected but instantly everything turned strange. It was like a dream, it was like a surrealist painting, the way they were expected to just continue on as if the world itself hadn’t just shifted. Everyone else was so happy, and they should’ve been! Poison was too! But when they watched their friends so thoughtlessly toss away their masks like it never meant anything at all, they didn’t know how to feel.  
  
_This is okay_ , Poison thought to themself, _We’ll settle down and I’ll just get used to it. Nothing has to change really, we’re still a family._ They were, after all, used to adapting. As a leader they had to be good with adaption, at working with the situation at hand. So they’d get used to this change too, they were sure. Just in the meantime they’d kept their mask on.  
  
It wasn’t even a week before the Ultra V’s left.  
  
Val had been the first to trash his mask, he’d lost it before even leaving the city, so Poison wasn’t especially surprised to hear him say, “We’re gonna be heading out soon, we’re moving on from this.”  
  
Poison just nodded trying to process that their little brother, still so young in their eyes, was already leaving them. This was good wasn’t it? The V’s were their own gang, they always were, so it would be good for them to make their own image in this new world.  
  
And then the five of them were gone. Leaving behind nothing but some spare ray guns and what clothes reminded them too much of the fight.  
  
At least Poison still had their own gang, and their blood brother, Kobra. They could work with this. The V’s and the Fab Four would be separate but still close, still family. However it was strange that for the first few weeks at least, the V’s never seemed to reach out. Poison kept their patience.  
  
Ghoul and Jet were next to announce their departure. Kobra spoke for Poison this time, saying their goodbyes for them. Poison couldn’t bear to speak themself. Ghoul and Jet were so elated from their engagement that they didn't seem to notice how badly Party was hurt by them leaving, not that Poison made it easy for them to. Party was the leader -the ex-leader- they were used to covering up their own emotions for the good of the group. And soon, like that, two more of their friends were gone. Only Kobra was left.  
  
And that was okay.  
  
Things were okay again for a while. Kobra made fun of Poison for still wearing their mask and for dying their hair whenever their roots dared return, but mostly it was nice. They spent their days driving around, exploring the changing desert, and at night they camped out, sleeping in the Trans Am.  
  
One of the first things the two came to realize was that there was a serene peace in the desert now. The arts had exploded, there were more markets, more murals, and more people in general now spreading color and culture over every dusty hill. Street parties and parades were not uncommon especially in the first two zones. The only thing that rubbed Poison the wrong way about it all was the way this new wave of killjoys dressed. Amongst all the new color, the fashion seemed to have taken up some Bat City influence. Maybe it was just the lack of masks but killjoys’ outfits suddenly felt so normal and plain and civilian.  
  
But “killjoys” was a bit of a misnomer now either way, Poison supposed. There were no more killjoys. Just people who lived in the desert and people who lived in the city.  
  
But it was nice, just them and Kobra. Cool starry nights and warm cozy mornings and long happy hikes where they’d recall war stories already feeling so distant.  
  
So it took Poison by surprise when Kobra slammed a talent search poster down on the Trans Am’s hood.  
  
“I want to race,” Kobra had said.  
  
They’d stopped at a gas station to refuel, and Kobra must’ve found the ad pinned up inside somewhere when he was picking up snacks.  
  
“I haven’t raced in so long! I need to do this, I need this opportunity.”  
  
Poison was too startled to speak their mind. It didn’t feel real to them that even their dearest little Kobra would be moving on. But he was, and he did.  
  
The first night alone, they cried.  
  
Poison couldn’t have imagined life would ever be like this. Ray guns, fast cars, rock n roll, their family, it was all they had and now they had nothing. No purpose, no love. Just an old beat up car and a plastic mask.  
  
They realized that night they hadn’t wanted to defeat BL/i, well they _did_ , but now they didn’t. They regretted it. They regretted it with all of their aching heart. They could’ve spent forever as an outlaw amongst friends but now there was no law for them to rebel against, and no friends to stand by their side.  
  
They could’ve been a revolutionary forever and it wasn’t until now, alone in their success, that they truly realized so.  
  
They kept contact with the rest of the Fab Four, of course: radios, letters, and quick visits. But it wasn’t the same. Jet and Ghoul were different now, happy and content and oh so painfully domestic. It was like they’d been tamed. It was like they were just the mild leftovers of their feral selves.  
  
And speaking to Kobra was even worse, because at least he was still wild. But it was a controlled kind of wild. And he was busy. Too busy for Poison, too busy for anything but quick hellos and quick goodbyes and quick “hey how’ve you been?”s  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
“Good to hear!”  
  
And that’s it, alone again.  
  
Poison thought about the Ultra V’s often too. But they had no means to reach out to them as the V’s never bothered to keep in touch after they’d left.  
  
Poison visited the radio station sometimes, to pass the time, to avoid being alone when they didn’t trust themself to be alone. Dr. Death Defying, Cherri Cola, Show Pony, they were so nice to them there. But it was weird. None of them really understood Poison or what they were going through. Cherri would just chastise them for their mask, “War is over,” he’d say. And Dr. D would offer some bullshit sage advice about staying positive and staying hopeful, as if that meant anything, as if they weren’t already trying. Show Pony was the most helpful offering distractions for them, but Poison knew they were only helping out of pity. Eventually they gave up and stopped visiting altogether.  
  
Poison had no purpose anymore outside of reminiscing over what used to be. They had every reason to be happy. Everything was good, everything was safe, but it was too good and so boring and absolutely pointless and just plain fucking lonely. They were so fucking lonely.  
  
They jumped at every slight sound, every wind gust, every creak. Every sudden noise was an unwelcome reminder of their old forgotten fights, and even worse: a reminder that they were alone now and those fights were over.  
  
But they couldn’t be alone, they couldn’t not fight, so they did fight. With nothing left to rebel against, they rebelled against the calm and the peace and they rebelled against themself. They traveled around desperately clawing at anything that would fill the void in their ribcage again. They started impromptu brawls. They hit the red line. They drank and swallowed whatever anyone would offer them. They did donuts with their eyes closed and slammed on the breaks, fantasizing about what if-  
  
One time they even tried to dye their hair a different color, as if a fresh image change would revitalize them. The sad deep blue barely touched their scalp before every fiber of their being rioted, screaming out to them how wrong this was, how they were red. Red hair, yellow mask, blue jacket.  
  
They dyed their hair a sickening candy apple again. They kept their mask on. And their worn and torn jacket would be wrapped around their hips if not over their arms. They couldn’t change that, too much had already changed.  
  
Poison didn’t know how long it was until they reached out again, waiting until they could time their quick visits between their bad days, between breakdowns.  
  
They asked on a whim if Jet and Ghoul, then Kobra, would be interested in reuniting.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“We had fun, I miss it.”  
  
“But we have lives now, we’re busy. Don’t you have something else to do now?”  
  
The conversations were circular, and short. And Poison would end them before anyone questioned them too closely. Asking about Poison’s new bruises, new cuts and scrapes, their eye bags and how _surely_ they have something new and cool and interesting to share now from their new life. Surely they had a new life.  
  
“What’ve you been up to, Poison?”  
  
Jet and Ghoul had lives. They’d taken up charity work helping out exxies, helping people move in and out of the city, helping rehabilitation.  
  
Kobra had a life. He was a top level dirt biker in the Zones, and announced for the sport in his spare hours.  
  
Where was Poison’s life? Why did everyone else make it look so easy?  
  
Poison realized that the Fab Four had gone their separate ways. For real now, they realized it. They didn't know how long it’d been, they hadn’t been keeping track, but the divide between them and their family was too immense to cross anymore. A raging white river had cut between them, the opposite bank fogged and uncaring. Everyone had moved on and they didn’t even realize they’d left Poison behind.  
  
For a second they considered reaching out to someone else again, to Dr. D or Cherri or even Val, but they couldn’t, they couldn’t face them anymore, they could barely continue facing the Fab Four.  
  
They weren’t even the Fab Four anymore. That name was meaningless now. Who were they now?  
  
Poison dyed their hair again, kept their mask tight, and sewed another patch to their decaying jacket.  
  
They asked the Four to reunite, again, a few weeks later. Telling themself if only things could go back to normal.  
  
No, actually, things were normal. This was just a quick break from normality. A short vacation. They weren’t even doing that badly all things considered, this was just an off-season and they’d be fine again in no time because things would be normal again in no time.  
  
How long had it been since the rebellion ended?  
  
They were declined a reunion again.  
  
At least there was something thrilling about the way their reflection deteriorated. The skeleton in the mirror smiled at them.  
  
Exponentially Poison got more desperate. But again, and then again, the rest of the Fab Four told them, one at a time, that they had their own lives and goals and that they’d moved on. They couldn’t just put their lives on hold to live out Poison’s regressive fantasies. They couldn’t devote themselves to Poison’s ideal life when they had their own ideals to follow, no matter how tightly Party clung to them.  
  
Poison couldn’t even remember what their ideal life was anymore. They just needed it back.  
  
It was the same every time: “We'll support you from a distance but we can't move back in with you. Hope you’re doing well, sending you love -Ghoul”  
  
-Jet”  
  
-Kobra”  
  
One after another.  
  
Poison drove more, fought more, dyed their hair again.  
  
And as nicely as they could, Poison asked them again and again.  
  
Ghoul was the first to snap.  
  
“Get your head out of the past, Pois, stop bothering us about a reunion! It’s not gonna happen and unless you stop being so goddamn negative about our decision I don’t think we should keep talking like this.”  
  
Ghoul slammed the door on them, not even inviting them in for a quick cup of coffee like he usually did.  
  
Poison waited until they’d stumbled back to the Trans Am before they started bawling. When they took their mask off to wipe the tears away, they hid their face in the crook of their arm too scared to be seen without it. Like being seen without it on would just cement the situation. Like it’d be surrender.  
  
How long had it been since the rebellion ended?  
  
Ghoul and Jet didn’t respond to Poison anymore after that day. They didn’t answer their radios or reply to the hopeless begging letters. And Poison was too terrified to visit their home again.  
  
Kobra grew tense around them, like Poison had soiled something about his perfect, too perfect, too good life. Ghoul or Jet must’ve been talking to him behind Poison’s back.  
  
And then suddenly Kobra seemed reluctant to talk to Poison at all. Like he resented them now. It was like Kobra had finally realized there was something wrong with them, and it was like he hated it.  
  
Kobra stopped responding to Poison not much later.  
  
Poison never really tracked him down again, Kobra travelled too often for his racing to have any permanent home from what Poison could tell. They just tuned the radio to the sports station listening to his voice when they could, a calming background noise, as they redyed their hair, reglued the stickers to their brittle mask, and hand sewed the shredded seams of their jacket back together, more gray now than blue.  
  
Poison hardly noticed the silence anymore. And though they felt the gaping hole in their chest cry out like a daily ache and pain, it was something they were used to now, it just never went away.  



	2. Spoils Club

Then it hits them again.

Like a wave, a crushing, shattering, boulder of a wave, it comes over them again and drowns their lungs. They’re alone, everything they ever knew is gone, and all the good parts of their life are in the past. There’s nothing left for them anymore, there’s no one left anymore. They’re ready to lay down and rot. There’s no one else left to reach out to.  
  
They remember the Ultra V’s.  
  
Their old friends, their old family, the Ultra V’s were really just an extension of the Fab Four more than anything. And though they’d never contacted Poison after the rebellion, at least they hadn’t ghosted them. That’s good enough now. It’s their last resort.  
  
It takes a week before Poison can track down where they live. A long slow week but only a week. They kick themself for waiting so long to do something so easy.  
  
They’d asked around every bar and club and bazaar as they drove along the empty desert roads.  
  
“Do you know where Val Velocity lives?”  
  
“Do you know Volume?”  
  
“Please, has anyone named Vaya or Vamos passed through here?”  
  
All they got back at first were blank looks, and sometimes glares. No one took kindly to them still wearing their mask. But it was no bother, it wouldn’t break their focus. They were on a mission.  
  
Finally, they were on a mission.  
  
At the end of the week they pull up to another club on the outskirts of Zone Five and wipe some stray tears from their eyes.  
  
It’s unseasonably drizzling outside and a streetlight glares over the Trans Am’s wet windshield. The grey sun’s setting, creating a muddy atmosphere. But with a sigh they open the car door, and after quickly checking that the rain’s not acidic, they step out into the fresh air. This’ll be it, they can tell.  
  
The club is dark, loud, crowded and full of avant garde fashion, more extravagant and tacky than Poison had seen in so long. Finally, they’re somewhere where a mask will get them no second glances. It’s a nice feeling, like they belong again, like they can blend into the background.  
  
The nameless figures in this packed room push and shove against Poison as they drunkenly dance and sing. Poison squints against the colored spotlights and lasers that speckle the scene. The loud music rattles their skull and they start to regret this as they push through the room just looking for somewhere to breathe. The choking irony doesn’t escape them: this party should be their dream, this is the kind of fun they’d been wanting to have again, but they just need to breathe, and more than anything they need to see their friends again.  
  
Weaseling through the suffocating mob, they suddenly realize what's so strange about this place. It’s not just a club, it’s a Spoils Club; one of the establishments that popped up after the revolution ended, full of radical killjoys who actually still use the label. Actual killjoys. Just like the good old days. There weren’t many places like this around, universally hated for being disruptive, archaic, and dangerous, but Poison supposes this is where they belong. And this would serve their purpose as good as anywhere else they’ve tried, as long as they can stomach the claustrophobia and stale scent of gasoline in the air.  
  
Finally they make it to a clearing.  
  
At a patch of wooden tables sits a large and rowdy gang of young adults, dressed in mismatched scraps of clothes. A few look up at Poison as they stare at them, frozen in place by the resemblance to who they’re looking for.  
  
“What d’you want, old man?”  
  
“Uh,” Poison falters trying to remember their words, “I’m looking for some ‘joys, used to go by the Ultra V’s? Uh, they’re Val Velocity, Vinyl, V-”  
  
Uproarious laughter interrupts them.  
  
“Those aren't any killjoys, man,” one of the punks shouts between his peers’ lingering chuckles, “Those pieces of shit just hog all that Zone Six land for nothing.” He takes a swig of whatever drink is in front of him and pulls his black mask down over his eyes.  
  
Poison’s stomach jumps in joy nonetheless. They’d found them, they’d found the V’s. Their old family, they were within their grasp again.  
  
One of the killjoy’s friends speaks up more helpfully from his shoulder, “Take Route Guano out another two miles and you’ll be on their property if that’s whatcha really want. But it’s so _boring_ there, and they won’t even let you shoot at the cattle.”  
  
“Thank you so, so much,” Poison grabs the killjoys’ hands and shakes them, jerking them up and down to perplexed looks. But before any of them can question Poison, they turn and disappear into the drowning crowd again, wrestling their way back through until they break out to the front door and step outside once more. The parking lot is now just as dark as it was inside the club.  
  
They pull up the Trans Am into a ditch nearby, wrap a blanket over themself, and turn in for the night. They can hardly sleep thinking of the V’s and of Val especially. For the first time in ages Poison has something- someone to live for. Finally, finally, someone who’d see how they’re suffering, someone who’d understand and feel bad for them, someone who’d listen.  
  
That night they dream of the danger days again, and for once it’s not so torturous.


	3. Paradise Found

Poison finds the farmhouse easily enough. It’s like the killjoys the night before had said: just down Route Guano. And their property was expansive. Four wide square fields of crops in neat little rows, framed by short wooden fences. At the center is the house and barn, quaint, cute, and yellow. In the early morning light there’s something dreamlike about the place. Desert mesas still frame the horizon but here they’ve found their Eden.  
  
Poison slows the car as they roll up the long and narrow dirt driveway. They note the wooden signs that line it. Half advertise which crops are free for the taking and which still need time to grow, but the other half…  
  
“Killjoys Stay Out.”  
  
“Private Property: 30 Yard Perimeter Around House.”  
  
“Keep Quiet, Keep Distant.”  
  
Poison chews their lip contemplating if they should take off their mask, or if they shouldn’t even be here at all. But they have to try. They park next to the front porch, by the beat up white convertible already there, and then they wait for the dust kicked up by the Trans Am to dissipate before they force themself out.  
  
Their heart convulses in their chest and they walk up the short front steps with cold legs and stiff arms. And then they knock.  
  
Volume opens the door, first a crack, then wider when he realizes who it is.  
  
“Poison? Holy fuck Poison!” In an instant he’s wrapped around them, “I missed you so much, this is such a great surprise.”  
  
He’s different from how Poison remembers. He’s older, taller, and his hair’s cut short and curly, a natural deep brown color.  
  
“I… I need a place to stay,” They say flatly, stunned by the unfamiliar sensation of loving touch.  
  
“Sure, sure, of course, come on in. Lemme go get my husbands and let em know you’ll be here a few hours.”  
  
“Oh, I uh, I need something longer than that.”  
  
“You… you need to stay the night?”  
  
“Please, I’m- I’m begging you please. I’m desperate.” They clasp their hands together for added effect.  
  
Volume furrows his brows bewildered by the anguish in their voice. He’d never seen Party beg like this before and it was odd to say the least. Volume sighs and bites his thumb, thinking it over. Their distress is convincing but, “We’ll have to talk it over.”  
  
He leads Poison inside to the living room, and once there gestures for them to sit as he continues farther into the house. Alone there, Poison looks around at the room. It’s got a natural wooden and stone aesthetic to it, many cushioned and oversized seats like the couch they’re sitting on now, and a fair amount of books and yarn and what looks like scrapped crafting projects scattered about. With no bright colors in sight, it’s disquietingly soft and drab, seemingly purposefully so. All the chairs go as far as to be a blunt bare ivory color. Nothing about it screams “Ultra V’s” to Poison, in fact if they didn’t already know who lived here they would’ve never guessed who did. An uneasy stone of doubt grows in them, like maybe they don’t actually know the V’s as well as they thought.  
  
Volume returns with Vinyl and Val trailing behind him. They look older as well. Val’s hair is white again and cropped shorter, and Vinyl is covered in tattoos with his hair in a messy bun. But what’s most striking is their clothes. All three of them, holding hands and leaning on each other in casual intimacy, are dressed in airy neutral fabrics only so flashy as to have a faded plaid pattern here or a light floral accent there. It’s so casual and comfortable and plain.  
  
“Where’s Vaya and Vamos?”  
  
“Oh those two?” Val laughs, “It’s just us here, the twins moved to the city years ago.” He sits down in an armchair beside the fireplace. It breaks Poison’s heart just a little bit more to hear that even the V’s split up. They frown at the thought trying to parse it. Val smiles kindly, “You look like shit.”  
  
It’s true, Poison’s hair is like straw, their eyes are dark, their body thin, and to their friends who haven't seen them in so long the change must be even more jarring.  
  
It’d been apparent to the V’s from the start that Poison isn't doing well.  
  
Vinyl hands Poison a cup of coffee, the first warm thing they’d had in weeks, maybe months. They chug it down all too fast. The warmth spreading through their chest is a comfort just like this roof over their head. They let themself relax, not even minding it when Vinyl touches their damaged hair from behind, either affectionately or out of examination, they can’t tell. They run their boots along the carpeted floor in awe of how plush it is.  
  
Val speaks up again with an unbreaking stare, “So let’s just get one thing straight: you can’t live here.”  
  
Volume, leaning against the armchair, groans at his Val’s curtness and looks away, but nods.  
  
Poison stammers reflexively, “I’m sorry but please, you don’t understand! I have nowhere else to go, I- uh, I have nothing.” They’re tearing up again, “Please, please,” If they weren’t here right now today would’ve been a low, a breakdown day, it might still be. The emotion pressing up against their head is too much and they can’t hardly suppress it anymore. They’re so tired. “Please, I just need your help.”  
  
Val laughs a bit under his breath, somewhat spooked by this reaction, “I love you but we worked hard on this life. And all our progress… It’s so delicate but it’s worth it. Unknown variables like this aren’t gonna work in our favor here. Can’t we just catch up real quick and have you on your way?”  
  
Volume sits on the armrest next to Val, a hand on his shoulder, “Poison, if you need a house why not just stay with Ghoul or Kobra or something? Why come all the way out to Zone Six? We -it’s like Val’s trying to say- we chose this isolation on purpose.”  
  
Poison looks down and shakes their head. “They…they abandoned me. They won’t speak to me anymore.” It’s the first time they’ve admitted it outloud. And it gets the V’s attention.  
  
“Like… no contact?” Volume asks quietly.  
  
Poison nods.  
  
“Oh shit I’m so sorry, Pois,” He rushes over and hugs them again. Vinyl hugs them too around their back.  
  
Unfazed, Val doesn’t move from his seat. “So what’d you do?”  
  
“I, uh, I don’t know, I’m sorry. I don’t know why either,” Poison lies.  
  
Volume looks at Val, apologetic, “Love, you still think they couldn’t stay just one night? I’d feel awful throwing them out again after knowing… _that_.”  
  
Val runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He flashes Volume a resigned glare. “One night.”  
  
Instantly, the tense atmosphere dissipates.  
  
Val and Volume are happily leaning on each other as they head to the kitchen. Vinyl opens the front window blinds, flooding the room with sunlight. He takes Poison’s empty cup and then offers to take their jacket for them too. They shake their head, “Um, no thanks. Thank you.” Vinyl smiles and leaves to join his husbands.  
  
From where they sit, Poison can see down the hallway to their right and directly into the kitchen. They watch patiently through the open doorway as the three of the V’s joyfully cook a pasta dinner together. All together they chop fresh vegetables and cook eggs. It’s obvious they’ve done this countless times before and in between tasks they steal quick kisses and hand hugs, and they cheerfully giggle about whatever lighthearted discussion they’re holding amongst themselves.  
  
Once he places the sauce on the stove, Volume comes out of the kitchen with a small comb.  
  
"Let me brush your hair."  
  
Poison nods nervously and hunches over a bit as Volume sits down beside them.  
  
Their hair is tangled and matted, visibly snarled even from a distance, but it's bright vibrant red all the way down to their flakey scalp. Sternly, Volume asks, "When's the last time you dyed this?"  
  
"Yesterday."  
  
"And before that?"  
  
"When's the last time I dyed it before yesterday?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Poison doesn't answer.  
  
Volume doesn’t pry but continues to gently detangle this rat's nest. Carefully he works the fine teeth of the comb into the twisted knots and persuades them free.  
  
A few awkward minutes of silence pass before he changes the subject, "So… you're still wearing your mask?"  
  
Poison nods, biting their lip when their movement tugs on the strand of hair Volume's gripping.  
  
"That's why Val was on edge you know. He meant no harm earlier, he's just… not a fan of that past."  
  
"I understand, I'm sorry. Um, should I take it off?"  
  
"No, no, if it makes you happy I'm not complaining. Just trying to apologize on Val's behalf-" Volume stops suddenly. "Wait, Pois, this jacket…"  
  
"Yeah, uh, It's more patches than leather at this point but it's old reliable."  
  
Volume forces a smile. "Cool, cool."  
  
A few more minutes of silence inch past. Poison's hair is almost smoothed out by now thanks to Volume’s patient but quick effort, just a few brittle knots are left on the nape of their neck. They sigh.  
  
"The day before yesterday."  
  
Volume perks up again, "What was that?"  
  
"The last time I dyed my hair before yesterday was the day before that… I'm sorry, I know that's bad."  
  
Volume shakes his head, "No, don't apologize, just… we don't keep hair dye in this house. We make a point not to. Could you-"  
  
"I've got all my bottles in the Trans Am and I can dye it out there. You won't know the difference, I swear."  
  
"Okay. That should work okay." He runs the comb through their flattened hair one last time and smiles up at them, wondering to himself if maybe conditioner could do anything to save the frail state their hair’s in.  
  
Val walks in and kisses Volume, "Dinners almost ready, el dente as you like it."  
  
Volume grins, "Oh come on Val, you don't have to do that for me."  
  
Val kisses him again then quietly adds on, "And Vinyl's making egg custards for dessert."  
  
Throughout the exchange, Poison's eyes carefully follow Val as he moves and talks. It's unreal to see his hair so short and colorless. And it's strange to see his whole face, naked and without a mask. But he also looks almost sophisticated now. They’d missed him.  
  
Dinner that night is silent, Poison is too focused on their food to talk and for once they’ve forgotten all their troubles anyway. The air is stagnant but there’s plenty of pasta plated out on the table, Volume had said it’s called pesto carbonara, and it’s the freshest thing Poison has eaten in as long as they can remember. They don't need to ask to know all the ingredients are from around the farm.  
  
A shy cat rubs against their pants leg as they finish the entree, content. It’s like the four of them are a family again and the domesticity isn’t so bad knowing that at least they’re a family. Poison hadn’t realized how bad they'd gotten until now with the feeling of love, the feeling of care, filling that void in them even if just partially. They understand now why the V's are so protective of this life. For something so boring, it was paradise.  
  
Without warning, Vinyl is wiping the tears from Poison’s eyes with a tissue and Volume is rubbing their back comfortingly. They’re sobbing and they didn't even know it. Across the table Val rests his chin on his interlocked hands and stares at them. His eyes are intense and piercing but Poison can't place the emotion.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?” Volume softly offers holding their arm, his voice hospitable and soft spoken.  
  
With nothing left to lose and no strength to hold it back any longer, Poison nods. Their head buzzes, foggy, but they recall everything. And they dump it all out to the V’s, everything they’d been going through for the past who-knows-how-long. They rant about how greatly they’ve missed the past, how they miss the family they used to have, and how much happier they had been before everything went so sour. How did everything get so bad so quickly, Poison laments, why did things need to change to begin with? Why did things need to get so much worse? There was no reason for it! Things were so shiny when it was just the two gangs living anarchists’ lives, free on the road and with meaning and passion. But now they had nothing, nothing at all, that book had closed with no warning so long ago now, and everyone had left them behind, and even Kobra hated them now, they’d escaped the city together a lifetime ago and now Kobra loathed them, and they were just a burden, and they were nothing, nothing but the forgotten leftovers of the past, and they longed to go back, the needed to go back, they needed it all back.  
  
Volume and Vinyl grow cold as Poison goes on. Abruptly, Vinyl breaks away and leaves for the kitchen again. Val all too enthusiastically rushes to follow. Poison can overhear the two break out into loud indecipherable whispers, arguing even, but Volume tries to keep them distracted with a constant chatter of "Hey it's alright, we'll help you, okay? Things will be good again, you're so strong, you'll be happy again, it's alright, trust us, trust me, you'll be okay again…" Slowly, Poison calms down, their breathing becomes regular, their shaking stops, and maybe, maybe, Volume’s right. They’re okay. The whispers in the other room turn one-sided and then it becomes tormentingly silent.  
  
When Val and Vinyl return, Val's gripping Vinyl's hand tight and is pointedly avoiding Poison’s gaze.  
  
"I'm sorry, uh, I didn't mean to upset you, I'm so sorry Val," they speak without thinking.  
  
For a second Val looks like he's going to snap at them, but he closes his eyes. He breathes for a second. And calmly he responds, "You're not a burden. You just have a burden. And that's not your fault. Please excuse my rudeness, You’re just reminding me of a lifestyle that was toxic to me, to all of us, and you're talking about it like it was a good thing! Like it was-"  
  
Vinyl kisses his cheek warmly.  
  
Val collects his composure again and continues, "But you're a guest in our home. You're still my brother. You can stay as long as you need." He sits down again and fidgets with a spoon before dipping it into a small bowl of custard and continuing his meal with as much salvaged normality as possible.  
  
Poison clears their throat. "Thank you…"  
  
Party Poison sleeps on the couch that night, the V's’ cat curled up onto their chest. It's much roomier here than they're used to, and just the pure amount of space that surrounds them is almost terrifyingly alien.  
  
But they pet the cat as it purrs and reminds themself that they’re actually okay. Even if just for now, they aren't alone anymore.  
  
Everything’s still strange and fucked up, but life's not so horrible like it was. They’re okay. So many caring killjoys under one roof, it really is almost like the danger days again, if Poison just closes their eyes and pretends.


	4. In the Industry of Emotional Labor

Poison wakes up last, sleeping late into the day.

They hadn't realized how tired they’d been until they ask Val, sitting by them on the floor, what time it is.  
  
"Around 5."  
  
"Huh.” They haven't felt this refreshed before. “I feel so awake."  
  
"Well I sure hope you do. Because you are." Without looking up, Val gently takes their hand in his. "I missed you, you know."  
  
"...Me too."  
  
Poison rests there in silence, revelling in the safety they feel just in Val's touch alone. Things really are looking up for them. Comfort warms their heart.  
  
Sunlight floods the open living room and cool fresh air streams in from screen doors. Poison imagines they could settle for this. It wasn’t the violent untamed life they were looking for but it was something loving. And it was _something_.  
  
"Val!" Volume calls in through the back door, "Come help me with these chickens! Vinyl's busy fertilizing!"  
  
And just like that, Val's gone again. It's like he was never there in the first place and the loneliness stings Poison anew.  
  
And then they're sobbing again, grieving their past, again. Instinctually they move to the floor in tears trying to ground themself literally. They don't know how long they sit there like that curled up in a miserable pitiful ball before Vinyl finds them.  
  
He comforts them, again, of course, and listens to them ramble once more.  
  
"I miss them so much," they hiccup out when they can breathe, “All I want is them back, I just want them to care about me again, I just want to live with them again and have fun and be alive.”  
  
They’re calmed down eventually, again. Volume helps out too once he walks in on the scene. It’s embarrassing, being cared for like this by the people they helped raise, but Poison’s thankful for this role reversal.  
  
The rest of that day is slow. Poison never really gets over their morning breakdown and spends their time following the V’s around like a stray dog. As the V’s do housework, farmwork and chores, Poison watches nervously from the sidelines. Sometimes they cry again, uncontrollably and triggered by nothing, and when they do whoever’s nearest at the moment drops what they’re doing and comforts them. The only break the household gets from them is when Poison leaves for a few hours, not saying where but returning with hair wet and sticky, the dye not even properly washed out.  
  
It’s tiring. It’s endless. But Poison’s their friend, their family. So of course the V’s are happy to help. They have to be. They keep tissues on them at all times and wear sympathetic smiles and wipe down the couch when they find excess hair dye inadvertently smeared onto it.  
  
(It doesn’t come out, but it’s worth a shot.)  
  
The next day doesn’t get any easier. Nor the one after that. Poison’s depressed, that much anyone could tell. They cry about the past, they apologize profusely, they dye their hair, and the cycle repeats.  
  
And the V’s keep telling themselves falling asleep at night that Poison will get better, surely they will. The V’s had all talked each other out of their own issues time and time again, there was no reason why they couldn’t talk Poison out of this with just a little patience and a little time.  
  
It’s almost, they think, like Poison doesn’t actually want to get any better. Or maybe whatever is wrong with them is somehow different from everything the V’s went through. None of them can say for sure which it is, and they suspect in hushed whispers that Poison doesn’t know either.  
  
“Everything hurts,” Poison bawls again.  
  
It’s been almost a week now.  
  
And it’s routine.  
  
Drained and apathetic, Volume hugs them and tells them it’ll be okay.  
  
Vinyl heats up some canned beans on the stove, tired, nearly falling asleep.  
  
And Val paces, back and forth and back and forth along the length of their living room, hands on his hips. He stops to glare at a red stained pillow strewn about on the floor and he freezes. Silently he leaves through the front door.  
  
The pity party indoors is swiftly interrupted by the sound of shattering glass.  
  
Hurrying to the door, Volume, Vinyl, and Poison all see Val punching out the dangling remains of the Trans Am’s back window, a large rock gripped tightly in his other fist.  
  
“No!” Poison shouts, suddenly no longer helpless, they rush out, leaping down the porch’s steps, and try desperately to peel Val off their car, one of the few stable things they have left. It's like a friend in and of itself, now being wrecked. Poison frantically grabs at Val’s shoulders trying to stop him, trying to get a hold on him. But unlike Poison Val hadn’t let his body wither away for years, so despite his smaller frame he easily shoves them off and into the dust below.  
  
Angrily, Val reaches in through the now-open window and pulls out bottle after bottle after box of red hair dye, stocked up enough to last Poison months. He throws them to the ground behind himself, discarded along with Poison. Both of them scream over each other’s shouts.  
  
“No! No, stop! I need those, I need those, I need those!”  
  
“No you don’t! No you fuckin don’t, you parasite!”  
  
He stomps on the hair dye, hard enough to crush the cheap plastic and cardboard and splattering the scarlet formula all over his boots and Poison’s groveling mask and the dirt beneath them. And he kicks the ruined containers away.  
  
Poison just sobs at the sight.  
  
“What the hell happened to you? You used to be a leader. And to think I looked up to you? Envied you? You’re pathetic.”  
  
“You don’t mean that! I can change. I can change again.”  
  
Val looks unconvinced. “Toughen up.”  
  
He leans against the trunk of the car for a second to catch his breath, glaring through the shattered window contemplating, holding out some hope that Poison will say something to change his mind. Below, Poison just whines in the dirt. Val shoves his fists deep into his pockets and walks away.  
  
Val doesn’t see what happens next, but he can make his guesses. Volume and Vinyl would baby Poison and carry them into the house -his house- and they would clean Poison up and tell them about how fucking perfect everything would be because of how perfect they are, but Val knows they aren't. Poison isn’t perfect, they're flawed, they are more than flawed. Poison was supposed to be a guardian to them, to everyone, not the other way around. To see them like this was unnatural.  
  
Val rests in the V’s bed pretending to read as his mind wanders. After a few hours, Vinyl joins him, curling up in the comforter by his side.  
  
“I’m scared, Vi,” Val muses aloud, “I haven’t felt like that in a long time.”  
  
Vinyl grabs his hand, his low voice a welcome comfort, “Talk to them.”  
  
With a sigh Val puts his book on the bedside table and lays down with Vinyl. “I don’t know. I don’t think I can. I don’t like how the past’s come back to haunt us and I don’t trust it. I don’t trust myself.”  
  
Vinyl pulls him into a hug. “I trust you.”  
  
And so that night after they’d all retired and the lights had been turned off, Val slips out of their bed.  
  
The movement is enough to stir Volume awake. He sleepily glances over at Val slipping out of the room. He’s lived with Val long enough to recognize his troubled body language and wants to get up to help, to watch over him, to make sure he’s safe and okay. But Volume is tired of watching over other people. He’s exhausted. So in the dark he just rolls over and falls back asleep.  
  
Val sneaks down the stairs and into the dark living room. Poison’s there on the couch deep in their slumber. Their calm face almost looks like how it used to and for the first time since they had gotten here, Val recognizes them. It’s Party Poison. Val stares at them for what feels like ages before he walks over and gently tugs on their jacket sleeve.  
  
Poison startles awake and into a sitting position instantly, looking around themself on edge until their eyes adjust.  
  
“Val?”  
  
“I haven’t acted out like that in years you know.” His voice is throaty and hostile.  
  
“Oh, um,” Poison thinks for a second, still groggy, “I’m sorry to hear that, uh, that really sucks…”  
  
Val laughs and, puzzled, Poison gawks at him.  
  
“Alright Pois, you’re always talking about the past, how bout this: remember that time you found me pulling a gun on Dr. D?”  
  
“Oh yeah,” they chuckle too now, “That was hilarious.”  
  
“No it wasn’t,” Val grabs them by the collar of their shirt, serious again and forceful, “Listen to yourself. Nostalgia’s blinded you. Nothing that happened back then was hilarious.”  
  
“But it was all in good fun though! We were rebels and feral. Um, that’s what was so great about it: it was exciting!”  
  
“It was traumatizing. I think about what I was like back then and I’m scared. I’m scared of myself.” Val lets go of them.  
  
“Why? You never actually hurt anybody, and you never did anything wrong.”  
  
“I pulled a gun on Dr. D.”  
  
“But you didn’t shoot.”  
  
“But I wanted to.”  
  
“But what’s it matter! All's well that ends well… That’s all I want, Val, a good ending.”  
  
“I was going to kill him.”  
  
“There was more to the past than just that, why are you so fixated on-”  
  
“Volume almost died too, a drac got him in the gut and for weeks I stayed at his bedside watching his chest rise and fall convinced that soon it’d stop. And Cherri almost died. It was only pure luck that the shot to his chest was set to stun. Fuck, Poison, the Girl did die, maybe you forget about that cause she came back but I remember. She died.”  
  
Poison frowns at the mention of her. “The Girl left us. We haven’t seen her since Bat City.”  
  
“What… What difference does that make? Because you haven’t seen her in awhile, what, you…”  
  
“She’s gone, it doesn’t matter.”  
  
Val grimaces, “She’s not gone, she’s just with her mother. You do know you can still care about people even when they’re not a part of your life anymore, right? You can care about people from a distance, you can care about people forever. A relationship ending doesn’t mean that the love has to end.”  
  
Poison shakes their head, “But what if it does.”  
  
Val sits next to them now, leaning into them and resting his head on their shoulder like he’d down countless times before. “Poison, you’re scared of letting go of that war but I think you need to. I think you need to let yourself do that.”  
  
“It only just ended, I need time.”  
  
“It’s been six years.”  
  
“I need time. I can’t move on just yet, it’s all I am. If I carve that war out of myself now I’ll be hollow.”  
  
“All you do is cry. To me it looks like you’re already hollow.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to be this way you know… it just kinda happened. Like, uh, I just took a wrong turn somewhere and didn’t realize it ‘til I looked around myself and was surrounded by trees where there should’ve been desert. And even now, chopping down that overgrown foliage and trying to find my way out, just trying to see the sky again, I don’t know where I went wrong, I don’t know where I fucked up or what I did to deserve to be here like this. Not once did ever I think to myself ‘you know what, I’m going to scare everyone away and live a miserable joyless existence alone,’ that was never something I intended, this wasn’t my intention. I’ve only ever acted the best I could with what I had and knew in that moment. I did my best ...It wasn’t me who changed, it was the world.”  
  
“That’s a comforting thought isn’t it.”  
  
“It is.” They rest their head on Val’s and close their eyes, “I just hate being so alone.”  
  
“You’re not alone,” Val takes their hand and holds it securely, “you’re not alone, you still have us. You still have me.”  
  
“I’m sorry. About everything.”  
  
“Don’t be, I should be sorry too. It wasn’t all bad I guess, back then. You might have a point. I’ve just let my bad experiences taint what good there was but we had some good times, didn’t we?”  
  
Poison laughs, “Yeah, remember that time we were all playing D&D in the Diner, the time Doc was DMing, and Ghoul hadn’t balanced his stats at all so when we got to our finale he brought in those rigged dice Tommy sold him.”  
  
“That’s, yeah, that was so stupid. Kobra was so pissed when he found out, I thought the two of them were gonna kill each other and Jet just kept shouting, ‘It’s just a game! It’s just a game guys!’” He shakes his head smiling, “And what about that time Show Pony got caught shoplifting at the market?”  
  
“Why were they even shoplifting in the first place? Witch knows they never needed to.”  
  
“I think it was a spite thing, Vaya said they’d never get away with it and of course they were right!”  
  
The two laugh together again. And as their snickering fades and the room returns to it’s silent and still state, Val smiles, melancholy.  
  
“I miss them.”


	5. The Vandalized Sign

The next morning Val is up early and enthusiastic to help his husbands tend to their sprawling strawberry patch, harvesting the last of its end of season crop. Party Poison politely watches from a nearby picnic table until the V’s ask if they want to help out. Party accepts gratefully and as they follow them around today from chore to chore it’s different than before. There're many more bright smiles all around, and they’re all more productive than they had been all week, largely due to the notable lack of breakdowns on Poison’s end. Instead of squeezing their farmwork in between the constant task of caring for Poison, their work is their priority again and Poison is actually carrying their own weight.

A thin summer fog rolls over the farm contrasting the cloudless sky. The fresh scent of sunshine and dry earth peacefully blankets the estate.  
  
About midway through the day Poison and Val are checking on the cattle in the pasture and laughing to themselves until Volume calls Val over.  
  
“Let’s get lunch real quick. Poison, you’ll be okay a minute? We’ll bring out a sandwich for you too.”  
  
Party nods, beaming, and returns to feeding the cows.  
  
Val follows Volume to their kitchen. “What’s up? Need somethin?”  
  
“What’d you say to Poison last night? I saw you left, presumably to talk with them.”  
  
“Nothing bad! We were just talking.”  
  
“I didn’t think it was anything bad,” he awkwardly smiles, “there’s no need to get defensive. I was just curious because they’re doing so well. I was wondering what you had said so we could keep them down this path.” Volume pulls a fresh loaf of bread from the cabinet and starts constructing three caprese sandwiches.  
  
“I didn’t say anything specific. Just showed them empathy was all.”  
  
“Huh, alright then. Well you two seem to be getting along so just keep doing that I guess. Here.” he hands Val a sandwich.  
  
The next few days are like that, relaxed and calm. Poison has made themself at home and it’s like they’re just another one of the V’s now. Life’s lighthearted and easygoing and the four divide their time between rewarding work and relaxation.  
  
And at night, a new routine forms: Val slips out of bed and indulges in midnight conversations with Poison, talking about life, talking about the past, talking about the future. Often these discussions become increasingly abstract and the two will tackle progressively philosophical topics, like freedom or love, until they wear themselves out. Val keeps these conversations secret though, pretending to doze on the edge of the bed until his husbands fall asleep and he can sneak out undetected. He’s not sure why he doesn’t let them know or why there’s some internal guilt to this action, but he sees nothing wrong with having a life outside of them. His own little secret after years of having none is thrilling in a way.  
  
On one of these peaceful days, Poison and Vinyl are walking along the perimeter of one of the farm's quadrants. Up close, Poison can see that these crops are saplings, twiggy little shrubs bare of fruit but labeled as orange trees. They walk along the outskirts of the grove, trees lined up to their left and a few overgrown arid weeds tickling their ankles as they hike. A few feet ahead of them, the cat trots along with its tail raised high. The ground beneath them is compact and parched. Poison wonders how these trees could possibly grow from it, but they are.  
  
Every few yards, Vinyl kicks at the stumpy wooden fence at their right checking it for rot. Poison flips their mask up for a second and wipes the sweat from their brow. Then as they position the mask back over their eyes they catch sight of the dark clouds just over the horizon, behind the distant desert mountains.  
  
Relaxed and stoic, it’s like Poison’s their old self again, ratty hair tied back out of their face. They jog ahead a bit and scoop the cat up in their arms, halting when they see Vinyl has stopped.  
  
He stands in front of a makeshift wooden sign, one of the ones Poison had seen scattered about the property before. Poison moves to look at the front of it. It was one of the ones that had read “Killjoys Stay Out” but now that’s barely legible, spray painted with a new layer of crude vandalism. Vinyl grips both sides of the sign and with a foot planted against the base he rips it from the ground in one motion. He glances at Party nervously but they just smile in response as he tosses the defaced lumber away and makes a mental note to replace it.  
  
And that night when Poison and Val meet up in the living room again, they laugh about it.


	6. The Unforgotten Past

A few weeks into this lifestyle, while Val is helping Volume care for the chickens, Volume notes, “Such a good thing that Poison’s finally letting go of the past.”  
  
Val tenses up, “is it?” He places another egg into the wicker basket cradled in his left arm, trying to quickly finish this chore before the coming storm pulls in.  
  
“What d’you mean?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Val confesses, baffled himself. He gently pushes a chicken out of his way with a foot and steps down out of the walk-in coop. Volume who’d been standing just outside the entrance moves to stroke Val’s face reassuringly, his eyebrows frowning. Startled, Val flinches away.  
  
“You doing alright?”  
  
Val shakes his head, “Why wouldn’t I be? Just drop it, sweetheart.” His last word hides sarcastic disdain.  
  
“Hey woah! Come on, love, do you need to talk about it or do you need a distraction?”  
  
“I need you to fuck off!”  
  
Val begins to carry the fresh eggs past him and to the house but without thinking Volume grabs his wrist. Instinctually, Val turns and shoves him back dropping the basket in the process, “I said fuck off! Leave me alone. I’m in charge here and I can handle this!”  
  
“ _You’re_ in charge here? Since when?”  
  
“Since-” Val blinks remembering where and when he is. “Oh I’m so sorry Volume.” At once he’s on his knees checking the spilled eggs for cracks and returning the intact ones to the basket. He curses under his breath at how many had been wasted, nearly two thirds.  
  
“It’s alright, it’s okay,” Volume kneels with him and motions to hug Val, but doesn’t force it when he flinches away again.  
  
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”  
  
“Don’t worry. We’ve been through this before…”  
  
Before, before, before, the word echoes through the air. Val shakes his head trying to dispel it, but it’s already wormed its way into his skin. Before, Before, this was just like that wasn’t it? The way he snapped at Volume, the way he snapped at Poison weeks before. He hadn’t changed from before, he’d never changed like he thought he did, no, the past was still here and he was still Val, Just like before, he always would be.  
  
The world constricts on him, his chest, and his mind and Volume quickly leads him, half-blind, into their home and up the stairs and he closes the bedroom door behind them. Half an hour later and Val’s been talked out of the flashback.  
  
The two of them rest on their bed for a while as Val readjusts to reality and Volume holds his hand, trying to convince himself as well that everything’s fine. Volume looks over Val’s blank expression grievously.  
  
Once Val feels up to it, they silently make their way downstairs taking their time with each taxing step. It’s been a while since either of them had felt so wiped out.  
  
Poison meets them in the living room, presumably having waited there since Volume practically dragged Val inside, “What happened? Is he alright?”  
  
Unable to respond just yet, Val holds his head in his hands blocking out the harsh light that’s making his building headache worse, and Volume tells Poison not to worry, it’s nothing, they don’t need to hear about it, he’s got it handled.  
  
But that night Poison hears all about it when Val tells them everything over drinks.  
  
“...and y’know Volume thinks you’re ‘letting go of the past’?” Val hands the half empty bottle of rosé back to Poison.  
  
They take a drink and chuckle, “No way. Doesn't he know that’s all we ever talk about?”  
  
Val shakes his head and laughs, “I hadn’t mentioned it. But maybe he does have a point, he had to pull me out of the past during my flashback and maybe that’s what we need to do with you: pull you out of the past.” He grabs the bottle back and takes another sip.  
  
Poison grimaces, “Or maybe you shouldn’t repress it like that. Accept the past like I have. You said you’d been ‘slipping into old habits’ and, well, what if that’s happening because that’s just the way it’s supposed to be? You said you’re scared of being the same person you were then, but uh, you still are the same person, you weren’t reborn or anything. Why not just accept the past for what it is instead of ignoring it ever happened at all til a flashback forces it back up again?”  
  
“That’s not how it works, Pois,” Val admonishes, “It’s not like I just start _thinking_ about the past again, it’s like I’m there again, emotionally, and it’s hell. In the moment I can’t remember all the progress I’ve made until I’m reminded.”  
  
“I don’t know if it’s fair to call it progress.”  
  
“Don’t be fuckin rude,” Val leans back and closes his eyes frustrated, “It’s no rat race but life’s better now, no matter what you seem to so stubbornly think.”  
  
“The way I see it,” Poison continues, ignoring Val’s contempt, “You’re trying to cover up the past with a bandage but there’s no wound there to begin with, there’s nothing wrong with the past. It’s uh, it's the present that’s wrong you know, and you know I think that but I think it cause it’s true! And half the reason it’s so wrong is cause none of you guys want to learn from the past! Everything is awful now and you all act so naive about it because you don’t let yourselves know any better.”  
  
“You say you hate it here but you don’t act like everything’s awful.”  
  
“I’m talking bout big picture. I can grin and bear it in the moment.”  
  
“And what’s so awful?,” Val arrogantly cocks his head in curiosity, “I forget.”  
  
“Val, what impact are you leaving on the world right now? When you die and this farm decays, what impact will you have left here? What purpose would you have served?”  
  
“I don’t know. None I suppose, but didn’t we already do our big part? We saved the fucking world, we’re heroes”  
  
“Exactly! We changed everything and now it’s over. Now what? It’s like everything's gone bland and loveless and it’s just so depressing.”  
  
Poison’s words stick with Val the following days. As he fries an egg for breakfast his eyes unfocus on it popping away in the pan and he asks himself how happy he is here living the life of a civilian like this. As if he hadn’t helped overthrow the government not even a full decade earlier. Maybe Poison was right, he’d forgotten who he was.  
  
Without looking up, he decides to test his luck asking for a second opinion, “Are you happy, Vinyl?”  
  
Leaning against the counter next to him and eating a bowl of yogurt, Vinyl turns to look but Val doesn’t care enough to check what his face is saying.  
  
“Vi, aren’t you tired of being so… nice all the time? Like we’re just people now, isn’t that weird? Whatever happened to us being killjoys first and humans second.”  
  
Out of the corner of his eyes and through his short but growing bangs Val spots Vinyl shaking his head 'no' mechanically, eyes wide like he doesn’t know what to say if he could get himself to speak.  
  
Val flips the egg in the pan, presses it down with a spatula, and then slides it to a plate. “Sorry, just thinking out loud. Don’t worry bout it.”  
  
Poison cries again that day after accidentally catching their reflection in the bathroom mirror, finally faced with the fact that a solid half inch of dishwater blond roots are showing beneath their faded pink-ish dye job. Val’s the first to hug them. Feeling guilty for being the one to force them to go cold turkey with it in the first place, he holds them gently as they whimper. Val buries his head in Poison’s neck, as comforted by this as they are. Routines are shifting again. Things stop being so easy around the farm.  
  
“Progress isn’t linear,” Volume reminds Poison as he comforts them again a few days later, more tired than ever. A storm brews outside, flashing lightning throughout the dark house and snarling distant thunder overhead. Volume wipes away Poison’s tears trying to convince them to stand up from the hard tile floor, and above them through the kitchen window Val tensely paces in the muddy yard, kicking over the spare tools propped up against the chicken coop provoking the already nervous birds into a passing startled frenzy.  
  
It’s like that everyday, again, and all things considered it shouldn’t be nearly so difficult now that at least Val’s finally on board with helping Poison, but somehow it's still difficult nonetheless.  
  
During one of their nightly conversations Poison asks him, “Why are Volume and Vinyl both so dead set on acting like things are peachy keen all the time.”  
  
“Fake it til you make it,” Val remarks, laying his legs over Poison’s lap as he reclines.  
  
“What d'you think would happen if they stopped acting so naive? If they admitted how eccentric this lifestyle is and how rotten its core is?”  
  
Val shrugs, “Dunno.”  
  
“I mean, for example when you, uh, get flashbacks what would happen hypothetically if you didn’t ground yourself with lies about how flawless your current life is? ‘Everything's okay, everything’s fine,’ if everything were okay and fine we wouldn’t be having these issues to begin with! What if you accepted the pain for what it was: a sign that something’s wrong?”  
  
Val groans, “Not sure what that even means, Pois. But it’s funny you mention it, I had another one today.”  
  
“Really, another flashback? And let me guess, they just told you about how okay y-”  
  
“Oh no, I didn’t tell my husbands about it,” Val interrupts, laughing at himself, “I wasn’t in the mood for that kind of positivity.”  
  
“Exactly! Their blind positivity makes me nauseous, It’s like propaganda.”  
  
“It is, isn’t it?”  
  
“Everything’s so mundane, sometimes I feel like I’m being caged.”  
  
“You think _you’re_ being caged? I’ve been living like this for six fuckin years! I’m a caged tiger and I need some fucking enrichment!”  
  
Poison shrugs, “I meant it in a more metaphorical, uh worldly way, but if the shoe fits.”  
  
Val scoffs and admits, “I feel like all I have is myself sometimes.”  
  
Poison smiles, relieved, “You know it’s crazy, you’re the first person I’ve spoken to since the war who’s shared these sentiments.”  
  
Val holds their hand understandingly, “Well thank yourself for being so patient with me. I’ve grown too complacent with this bullshit.” He closes his heavy eyes and let’s himself start dozing off to the sound of crickets through the thin walls.  
  
Poison squeezes his hand, “Do you think you’re gonna do anything about it?”  
  
“Bout what?” Val mutters, already forgetting the conversation.  
  
“This life.”  
  
“Dunno,” he says again, uncaring, “You doing anything?”  
  
Poison sighs tugging bitterly on their thin faded hair, pulling the loose strands out and shaking off the strays that cling to their mask, “I don’t know if there’s anything I can do anymore. I think I’m getting too old. I think the world’s gotten too far away from me. I’m just laying down to rot, really, that’s all I’ve been able to do so far.”  
  
Val hums happily, hardly listening anymore. He lets himself rest trusting Poison to wake him up again before dawn to sneak back into his proper bed.


	7. A Cry for Help

Val steps out of the bathroom. “What do you think?” He runs a hand over his hair, shaved down short and fuzzy.  
  
“Looks great, love,” Volume leans in for a kiss but Val blocks him with his hand.  
  
“Not in the mood, sorry.”  
  
Volume shrugs, and steps around him into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Val turns to Vinyl, sitting on the bed brushing out his hair. “Well?”  
  
Vinyl smiles at him brightly.  
  
“So that’s it? I shave my head and I get a smile and a ‘that’s great’? All my hair’s in the sink!”  
  
Volume spits out his toothpaste, “Thanks for that by the way.”  
  
“You two are useless.” Fidgeting in place, Val quickly glances at Volume and then rushes out into the hallway, slamming the door behind himself.  
  
Poison’s much more receptive. Only just awake now, they lightly feel the crown of his head. “It’s cute! What inspired the change?”  
  
“Been feeling antsy.” Val takes Poison’s hands in his and grins up at their fatigued face, “I just needed a change.”  
  
Outside, a steady drizzle of rain clatters against the window, and the cloudy overcast sky turns the air gray and muggy. And from above, the sound of the bedroom door thumping against the wall echoes down the upstairs hallway. Val can hear Volume’s quick pitter patter down the steps and soon from behind his quiet voice fusses from the entrance to the living room, “Val?”  
  
Val grimaces but turns reluctantly and proud, “Yeah?”  
  
Eye’s wide, Volume grips in his fist a wet clump of red hair, “Do you need to talk?”  
  
“It was just a streak and I shaved it off anyway, who gives a shit!”  
  
Poison grips his shoulder from the side and leans close to whisper in his ear, “Where'd you get that dye?”  
  
“Pocketed it from the Trans Am when you were preoccupied with your tantrum.” Though he speaks to Poison, his gaze remains locked with Volume’s.  
  
Poison grumbles, “I could’ve used that! This whole time, I-”  
  
Val shoves them away and stands up, “Shut up.” He steps toward Volume, shoulders square and chin high, tauntingly, “Got something to say? Say it.”  
  
“You dyed your hair…”  
  
“We’ve established that. Wanna offer something new, smartass?”  
  
“If you’ve been feeling bad again, there’s better ways to cope.”  
  
“You’d like that wouldn’t you?”  
  
“For you to cope healthily? Yes I would, why wouldn’t I? You think I wanna watch you tear yourself apart again? Val...”  
  
“Of course you hate it when I express anything other than passivity, right? That’s your thing isn’t it? You’ve sanitized my life like you’ve sanitized this house and sanitized _your_ life but we’re not the same. I'm not your tame pet who’ll just sit around unadorned and docile. Am I not allowed to have a negative thought every now and again? Am I not allowed to have a little color in my life again?”  
  
“Don’t act coy, please, you understand where I’m coming from here. The last time you had color, you weren’t yourself. And if you’ve been having negative-”  
  
“But I was myself! I was myself and I am myself! And fuck you if your faith’s so low in me that you think I can’t dye my hair for fun like a normal fucking person.”  
  
“That’s not the issue! Hair dye’s not the issue. The baggage we both know it carries is the issue!”  
  
“That ‘baggage’ is our reality.”  
  
“No! Our reality is this farm, it’s our animals, its us, Val.”  
  
“None of that’s real and you know it. I’m sick of pretending like this is all okay when it’s not.”  
  
“Is it not?”  
  
“It’s artificial! We might as well be cooped up in Bat City with the twins if we’re gonna act like dogs, like this!” Val turns to Poison for support but falters when he sees them, still on the couch, hugging themself and crying again.  
  
“See… see, this is what I mean," they whine staring blankly ahead, "Everything’s rotten and you’re fighting. This- this isn’t a family, not like before, you’re proving me right…”  
  
Val jumps to their side, hugging them tight but offering no argument.


	8. The Storm

The rainy season is in it’s full grandiose entrance now, howling wind hammering against the side of the house. The barn and the chicken coop had both been secured tight, and the cat door had been locked keeping the creature trapped inside along with everyone else.

Poison has never seen a storm like this before but judging by the V’s casual response to it they figure it must be normal this far out in Zone Six. Still, they can't help but feel like things will flood any minute now from the unrelenting downpour.

Volume lays across Vinyl in an armchair, sketching absentmindedly in a pocket notebook while Vinyl plays with his hair. It’s sickeningly carefree, Poison thinks, already feeling the cabin fever set in after only two days of this confining weather. Val seems to match this restlessness, standing silently at the edge of the living room with his arms crossed, observing the scene with a distant dirty look. Suddenly their cat playfully runs across the room, eliciting both Poison and Val’s gazes to follow it, and as the pet disappears upstairs their eyes find each other’s knowingly.  
  
Val admits, in their next nightly chat, that Poison had been right all along. They’d opened his eyes up to this torturous cage he’d trapped himself in. It’s not a new opinion of his but he had yet to say it so matter of factly or with so much conviction.  
  
“Thank you, Poison, for this awareness,” he continues, “I didn’t understand why you're depressed but I think I understand it now. You’re too smart for your own good, too intelligent. That’s why you gravitated towards leadership back then. That’s why I gravitated towards leadership, too. And now neither of us will be ignorant any longer.”  
  
Poison holds him close and nods, supportive and caring like any older brother would be. “Are you going to fix this?” they ask, voice cracking, “Can we still fix this?”  
  
“This is such a facade,” Val goes on, frowning over Poison’s shoulder, “This can’t be life! This isn’t what life is, tedious work and imitated refinement. Life is a fight!”  
  
“We’ll fix this, we have to,” Poison says with newfound belief, like the leader they once were. Shakily as they hug Val with one arm, with their other they find Val’s hand and clasp it.  
  
“You’re right. You’re right we’re better than this. We’ll fix it all!”  
  
And they shake on it.


	9. Paradise Lost

Party Poison has been with the V’s for three months total now.  
  
Another tired morning arrives, the tempest almost through by now, just some angry drizzling left over and by tonight it’ll have concluded.  
  
Vinyl rolls over in bed and instantly knows something is wrong. There’s too much space, like something’s gone missing. He sits up and looks around, unsurprised to find that Val’s not there. He gently shakes Volume's shoulder.  
  
“Where’s Val.”  
  
Volume rubs his face awake, “I don’t know.” He looks around too now, choking back a yawn, “You think he’s working early?” Now that they’d be able to go outside again there’s a lot to get done and Volume is too fatigued to give any validity to fleeting pessimistic thoughts.  
  
But Vinyl shakes his head. No, something is different in the air, he can tell. Maybe it’s just the autumn cold front pulling in but the house feels frozen and fragile, like the air itself is balancing on the edge of a pin. Something is wrong. Another sudden gust rattles the shutters outside.  
  
“Vi, don’t worry about it. Val’s probably just with Party again.”  
  
But that’s exactly what he’s afraid of. It’s what both of them are afraid of, though they won’t admit it out loud.  
  
“Come here,” Volume drags Vinyl back down and nuzzles his chest, “It’s still early, we have all day ahead of us to worry about it”  
  
Vinyl almost accepts the offer, exhausted, but his eyes lazily scan across the room and they land on a desk drawer pulled open. Scrap plastic and jars of paint are thrown about haphazardly like someone had been rifling through there for something. Vinyl pushes himself off Volume and sits up again.  
  
Volume follows his stare to the sight. “Hm.” He stands and slips on a robe.  
  
They make their way down to the living room, unsure, like stepping on eggshells.  
  
“Hey, love,” Volume says to Val as they walk into the common space. And then he stops, his gut wrenching.  
  
Poison is sitting there in an armchair, legs crossed and arms caught in the middle of gesticulating whatever they’d been discussing. And they look normal, as normal as Poison ever looks, their fringy hair framing the old mask and their jacket zippered tightly around their chest. They look up at the interruption and smile restlessly, like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar.  
  
But at their feet, sitting cross legged on the floor, is Val. His head is turned upwards to Poison in admiration and attention and around his face -around his _face_ \- snug and fitting is a mask. A gray blemish against his skin, a fresh red X painted across the homemade thing like he’s been crossed out, like he’s been exterminated. And through its holes Val’s eyes are dark and tired like he hadn’t slept the night before, like he hadn’t been sleeping very much at all lately. After all these years of peace, Volume never thought he’d see him like this again. And anxiously glancing to Vinyl he knows their husband thought the same. Vinyl holds a hand loosely over his lips and his eyes tear up like he’d suddenly been reminded of something horrid.  
  
“Hey,” Val talks as if everything's normal, but the defensive undertones of his voice suggest he knows things aren’t.  
  
Volume’s direct, “Hey, Val, angel, what’s with the mask?”  
  
Val smiles, “I was thinking, me and Poison were just thinking, about how fun it used to be to dress up. And they said -I said, isn’t it strange that only they still wear their mask? So I made my old one again too. It’s just for fun, Volume, really.”  
  
Volume catches his balance on the staircase railing beside him trying not to notice the dread rising in his throat. Vinyl rushes over to Val, hugging him, kneeling at his side, like he’d done so many times before but Val seizes up and tries to shake him off, “Get off!”  
  
Vinyl backs off and Val, standing up, roughly rubs at his arms where Vinyl had touched him. “Don’t do that! What the hell’s wrong with you?”  
  
“Wait don’t fight, please don’t fight!” Poison exclaims to them, “We don’t need to fight, nothing is wrong anymore.”  
  
“Then what’s with the mask,” Volume callously asks again.  
  
Poison whines, “Nothing is wrong...”  
  
Val grins, “Why don’t you tell me, Volume? What _is_ with the mask? Do you have a problem with it?”  
  
“Val-”  
  
“Do you have a problem with it?” He’s raising his voice now angry and righteous, taking a step toward Volume, “You hate me for it don’t you?”  
  
“No, I love you Val. I love you so much, I’m just trying to help you.” Volume outstretches his arms begging Val to think rationally. Vinyl nervously circles Val from a few feet away, fidgeting with his hands fearing that this will only escalate further.  
  
“You say that,” Val’s voice is harsh and drawn out, “but I figured it out. You’re the ones who locked me up here, convinced me it was paradise, and then shaved down all my rough edges into an ideal image. Well I’m sick of it! I didn’t destroy BL/i just to be restrained again! _This_ is the way I’m supposed to be! Untamed!” He fumbles at the empty air by his hip and upon finding nothing, he pounces on Volume, pinning him to where the wall meets the floor, one hand digging into his shoulder and the other gripping his hair, unforgiving, “Give me one fucking reason why I should trust you when you all you do is lie through your teeth about this being okay! And about ‘love’. Love ain’t real sweetheart, I remember that now, so grow up! If you wanted me dead you shoulda just told me so.”  
  
Volume pants quickly, panicked and not sure where to start with Val’s flawed logic. From behind Vinyl hooks his arms under Val's, lifting him up into a Nelson hold and peeling him off their husband and into the air. Volume shortly yells as he’s dragged nearly a foot by his hair before Val lets go kicking and screaming trying to writhe free.  
  
Poison tugs on Vinyl’s arms, “Let him go!” Startled, Vinyl drops him and Val bolts to the edge of the room before turning to face them all, stance wide and defensive.  
  
“Right. This is why you didn’t want Poison here, isn’t it? Because you knew they’d save me.”  
  
“V-Val,” Volume stammers, finding his footing again, “You didn’t want him here at first either, more so than any of us-”  
  
“Because you manipulated me. You wanted me to think I liked this prison.”  
  
“-Poison isn’t saving you, Val, they’re depressed and confused and now you’re-”  
  
“That doesn’t matter. I don’t wanna be saved anymore. Like Poison I’ve found my purpose again, I’m a killjoy” he straightens his mask out, “I haven’t felt this alive since we moved here. I don’t need to be saved. I’ll settle for this.” He takes a quick step forward and in response Vinyl shifts on his weight to guard Volume by his side. Val steps back. “So you choose him over me?”  
  
Tears streaming down their face, Poison numbly looks between the two opposing sides, paralyzed and not sure what to do.  
  
Volume tries again, “Love, we’ve pulled ourselves out of lows before, we can do it again. I know you’re scared right now but we can fix this.”  
  
“You can’t fix this,” he steps forward again, “And I’m not scared,” he lies through his sneering teeth.  
  
Val rushes his husbands again, clawing at whatever skin his resentful hands can find before Vinyl lifts him up in a messy bearhug, constricting him more steadily this time keeping him safely in place above the ground. Val screams and kicks and pulls Vinyl’s hair when he yanks an arm free but to no avail. “I was right! You’re no different from BL/i, you want to spread lies about peace and love but you’re no different, you just want to trap me in this prison. You just want to hurt me, you want to suppress me. Is this just a ruse to keep me isolated out in Zone Six where I can’t fucking get you?!”  
  
Vinyl drags Val out of the room and out the back door. Volume and Poison lock eyes.  
  
“Is he right? Are you going to… are you going to hurt him out there?”  
  
Volume smiles sadly almost amused, “No, Party Poison, there’s no dark conspiracy here. Sometimes things that look good really just are that way.” He sorely walks over and snaps the mask off them, revealing their watery and sunburned pink face, pleading like the lady of sorrows. He presses the mask into their weak hands. “You’ve been talking to Val too much. And he’s been talking to you too much.”  
  
“But we’re brothers, we’re family.”  
  
Volume pulls them into a hug one last time and in their ear his voice turns cold, “You brought the past into our happy ending where it wasn’t welcome and where it never will be welcome. You brought us your baggage and refused to let go when we volunteered to take it off your hands. You’re toxic, Poison, and your toxicity is spreading. Leave and seek help and don’t come back.”  
  
Poison shakes their head frantically, “No, you don’t mean that, you can’t kick me out too, that’s not fair! I didn’t know he’d be like that, I didn’t know this would happen... you’re the only family I have left.”  
  
Volume pulls away and glares at them, “Leave our property before Val sees you again.”  
  
“Please… You can’t... “  
  
“Leave, Poison.”  
  
They stumble to their feet and in disbelief they stagger to the front door.  
  
They don’t look back as they drive off.


	10. Goodbyes

It’s spring again. Poison is still shaking, even when their body isn’t.

The moment they left the ranch the sky cleared, and there hasn’t been a cloud since. They’ve passed the time since figuring out how to get the most legroom out of their driver’s seat and they wonder, often, if it’d be worth it to just sleep out under the stars for once. The desert can get harsh at night, temperatures dropping to a near lethal freeze, but for once they’d love to be able to just stretch out, relax, and sleep.

Each time they decide against it, however. The cold wind through the Trans Am’s back window is enough to snap them out of it and remind them that they don’t deserve the luxury of rest.

It’s too easy to cut off the world again. 

Like an old friend, the habit embraces Poison and they’re forgiven for wanting more. They collapse into the sand, again, their muscle memory expecting a kind hand or a comforting voice. But in exchange for their grief they only find stagnant air and the sound of distant crows. As they sob into their hands, again, they wonder to themself how many more salty tears their feeble plastic mask will be able to take - the mask that had returned to its rightful throne upon their cheekbones the not a full minute after they’d been shoved out of the Vs’ house months ago.

The sun sets and they remember that they forgot to eat, again.

Party Poison measures the passing time not by dates or by the moon’s cycles but by the length of time it takes before they can choke down anything more than alcohol. It’s been eleven of these secular fasts now, whatever that means. A few months, they’re sure, because it’s spring again. It’s spring again and Poison is still shaking.

  


* * *

  


They’re driving into the sun for the sake of going anywhere but wherever they currently are (and who knows where that is) when they come across a street market.

Stalls line the dirt road, each covered in fabric drapes and handmade signs. They’re all selling miscellaneous wares ranging from hobbyist crafts to produce. The road is packed with a sea of people going about business as usual, just a slice of each of their lives coming together in passing. Poison parks the Trans Am at the edge of this event and hesitates a moment. Groups of smiling people pass by. 

Their stomach twists on itself in hunger and envy. _Fuck it_ , they think to themself as they step out of the car, their boots crunching the coarse gravel beneath their feet.

They know what they’re actually searching for, of course, though they pretend they don’t. Hunger means nothing to them compared to their real, actual, needs. They pause at every stand in a row glancing over the goods glassy eyed but not looking, just shaking or nodding their head absentmindedly while the merchants ask them questions about their interest. Poison buys some fruit at one of these booths, a handful of clementines soft and charming. Then they keep searching. They watch faces.

The sun is dangerously low in the sky, beams of light glaring through Poison’s lowered glances. It’s warm but not hot. Still, they sweat. And as the crowd diverges around their irregular gate they fantasize in guilty pleasure about what it’d be like if Val were here. If, through these nameless figures, they locked eyes with a familiar one. 

Poison would humbly turn away, ashamed, and Val would be surprised - but not unhappily so. 

He’d ask them with painful inquisitivity, “Pois?”

And shyly Poison would respond, “Hey… you alright?”

And Val would smile.

And through that relief, Poison would apologize.

And with the light dancing over his faint dimples, Val would reassure them, “It’s alright! I forgive you! You deserved better!” 

And he’d apologize too, for letting them get kicked out like that. For being so inconsiderate.

But it’s a fantasy, nothing more, and even as Poison turns every corner expecting to unexpectedly find Val, they don’t, of course they don’t, they’re in a completely different world from the V’s now and those worlds will never naturally cross again. Poison won’t have a chance to apologize. And they won’t be apologized to.

One of the market stalls is selling hair dye. They advertise it as “all natural” and “organic” but that’s not what Poison cares about. They spend their last few carbons on a jar of color sixty-four, a deep vibrant red and the most vibrant red they’ve got. Turning the jar over in their calloused palms, looking it over, the thick syrup moves inside as if it were packed with straight maraschino syrup. Unwelcome memories return to Poison like sun-bleached film. Memories of a yellow roof, of a domestic kitchen, of Val’s face when he screamed at them: “You’re a parasite!” 

They were, weren’t they? They smile at the shopkeeper warmly and drop the dye into the bag that their fruit came in.

Time moves strange and slow as spring passes by, like winter’s comfortable hibernation is working overtime in Poison’s mind. Things move around them, but Poison stays still, numb.

  


* * *

  


A few months later, they dye their hair again with a smile.

Summer's passed. It’s been a year now. A year since they left the V’s and seven since the revolution ended.

Poison thinks of Val again, though they try not to. Dust blows in through the busted back window of the Trans Am and their mask itches like shedding skin. They shift in their seat, uncomfortable and claustrophobic. The sweaty leather against their bare calves makes them gag.

It gets to be too much: the unknowing. After everything that happened Poison can't stand the emptiness in their gut pulling them towards the V’s again for the sake of knowledge or of closure, if nothing else. Again and again like a trainer to a dog Poison tells themself that they can’t. But they can’t trust themself either. 

After everything that happened, it’d be cruel for them to show their face again, to the V’s more than anyone else. And they’re sure Val would agree with that, assuming he wasn’t still -

Poison presses the gas pedal harder out of frustration. The speedometer quivers as the engine revs. After everything that happened, Val must hate them but here they are back on Route Guano.

They can imagine Val now: fucked up and irrational. Is he locked up in his room? Is he scared? Is he crying like Poison’s cried? Poison thinks that they hope so, lest they’d be the only one still crying over it all and they don’t know if they could handle that.

  


* * *

  


Somehow they take a wrong turn on their way the way to the V’s. Like the road itself won’t allow this final visit, they get lost.

It doesn’t make any sense. The property should just be down Route Guano, a straight miles long highway, and there’s only one Route Guano and they didn’t take any exits. 

But out of nowhere they realize with a start that they’re on a winding side street instead, one they’ve never been on before. Like waking up from a bad dream or like falling into one, they pull into a truck stop parking lot confused. Has the desert changed? The moon watches as they hammer at their steering wheel and scream.

“FUCK!”

They check their old paper map but it’s meaningless. They don’t know where they are and they aren’t sure where they’ve been.

Poison looks around the car. They don’t dare turn on the ceiling bulb out of fear the light may be noticed. By whom they don’t know, but if someone were to see them right now then they would be forced into existence, they would be real, suddenly, and with that everything that’s happened to them would be real as well. This would be more than just the dream they wish it weren’t.

The air is blue as they hustle into the truck stop’s single stall restroom, carved into the side of the concrete building.

Poison bolts the metal lock and below the holy flickering light above them they take a razor from their back pocket. Their reflection - framed by cold grey walls - grips fistfuls of dry tangled hair and wrenches it taut as far as it’ll go. Poison grimaces and chokes back tears but at least they aren’t tears of anguish anymore. 

They work the dull blade against their tortured roots, chopping it off in painful chunks. Tired eyes shut tight, they don’t stop even when they knick themself with the close shave, a single stream of blood dripping down their temple. They yank more hair out of the solid knotted halo. Piece by piece they sheer themself, an ugly cherry mane falling to their boots.

When they’re finally finished, it’s all they can do to look down at their work, eyes half lidded and their top lip pulled up into a toothy smile.

Without looking, they feel at their crown in uncomfortable liberation.

  


* * *

  


Days blur again, bleeding together, until Poison finds themself at a mailbox. 

Once again they aren’t sure how they ended up here, but here they stand solemnly. Candles flicker refracting little glows over the box’s ancient paint. 

The moon watches them, the sun sleeps, and all they can think of is how loved they once were, not only with the V’s but before that as well.

They step towards the box. 

They take off their mask.

And before they can think, they slide it in.

“Fuck.” 

They jam their fingers against the mailbox’s slit as if it’ll still be there, as if they could reach it, as if they could still get their mask out. Their fingers, raw and cracked from neglected care, ring out in pain against the rusted metal, unearthly cold, but Poison wedges their fingertips against the slot anyway to no avail. It’s too late. It always was. With some effort they yank themself free.

“Fuck! Dammit!” They kick at the box but it doesn’t budge. They kick it again, more forcefully, with all their body’s weight, but all their boot does is chip the peeling flakes of graffiti.

“No, no, no, no that’s mine! I need that,” they plead, suddenly childish again and back to their senses, as if the Witch herself will hear their cries and return their mask. Poison kneels down and runs their hands along the parameter of the mailbox, feeling for where the retrieval door would open, for a lock or a handle or way to manipulate their way in. Strangely however, they find no keyholes, hinges, or anything at all but the uncaring metal.

They back up, defeated, their chest heavy.

They straighten out the mailbox’s offerings with jittery hands. Feeble and scared and naked, they skim fingers over their dry barren face.

Poison slams the Trans Am’s door shut and grips the steering wheel.

_How long has it been since the rebellion ended?_

They scream.

Slamming their foot on the gas with all the repressed rage of their shitty, wasted, already-over-with life, the Trans Am lurches forward and accelerates like a beast.

A crunch of metal splinters the silent night.

Party Poison is thrown forward, their head colliding with the Trans Am’s dashboard with a clap.

Everything halts too suddenly. Winded, they don’t move, afraid they might find they can’t. Their eardrums ring. Countless blind minutes pass before they painfully dare lift their head.

  


* * *

  


Standing beside the wreck now, they gather themself, contemplating the situation.

Predictably the Trans Am, reliable as it was, is totaled. The front is flattened like an old soda can, and the scrap metal smells of burnt coolant. Wedged between the jaws of the hood, the mailbox stands as noble as before, undamaged.

No hair. No mask. No Trans Am.

The danger days are over and Poison is tired of dreaming. They remove the hand they’d clasped over their mouth and reluctantly shed their jacket, laying it to rest over the decrepit roof of the car.

They throw their arms out to the side, properly feeling the fresh air against themself for the first time in years.

“Is this what you wanted?” they demand of the Witch, “Is this what you wanted from me?”

The mailbox answers back in all caps: “I FORGIVE U”

Without a single living soul to witness it, the rebellion breathes its last and final breath.


	11. Hellos

Party Poison sits in a diner some time later. It’s not the diner they raised themself in but a bustling establishment in Zone One. They stir their coffee at the bar, squinting from the blinding sunlight.

They’ve been keeping their head shaved, for now, unsure of what to do with it. And although their mask left tan lines, those are already fading.

“That’s quite the story,” the figure to their left states breaking the silence.

Poison shrugs, looking away.

“And,” xe continues, “I’m not quite sure whatta make of it.”

“Pony...”

The figure looks up. “Yes?”

Poison shakes their head, pouring another shot of cream into their drink. “I don’t know... I don’t know, I just - I feel like at this point I’m just waiting for a happy ending that’ll never come.”

Show Pony laughs a bit, “I don’t think anyone ever gets to a ‘happy ending’ like that. The world just continues, darling.” Xe tilts xeir head. “That isn’t too cliché is it?”

“I just wish I could apologize to them. Actually apologize. Out loud.” 

“For what? You fucked them over, sure, but they’re not faultless either. You’ve gotta particularly narcissistic strain of self blame going for you right now and it’s not helping anything.”

“What d'you mean?”

“Well I wasn’t there, but from what you’ve told me it doesn’t sound like anyone was living in the right that whole time. Do you really think escapism would’ve been the right answer? Like, say you were able to let go with the V’s, give in to it all and become domestic - _their_ brand of domestic. Do you really think that’d've been good for you?”

A box TV in the corner of the diner flips between channels before landing on a sports station. Grainy footage of a motorbike race airs to the muffled tune of an announcer.

Pony turns to it. “Hey you think Kobra’s in this one?”

“It would’ve been good I think,” Poison answers xeir previous question, lost in thought. “Or it would’ve been better. They were happy before I showed up and -”

“- And they were isolated.” Pony returns xeir attention to place a light hand on Poison’s shoulder. “Cut off from the rest of the world, incapable of confronting whatever uncomfortable issues they had, your issues included.”

“But if I never brought my issues to them in the first place then they would’ve been perfectly fine the rest of their lives, even alone out there like that.”

“And what a sad existence that would’ve been. Look! I think that _is_ Kobra.”

Poison glances at the TV too this time. It’s a circular racetrack but filled with ramps and bumps and many bikes. The sleek bike in first place isn’t one they recognize but the paint job is unmistakable. They take a sip of their coffee and watch for a moment.

"So if I hadn’t ruined them like I did, someone else would’ve?”

“They were already ruined, darling. Humans aren’t meant to live alone clutching literal signposts telling everyone else to fuck off! It’s sad, and in its own right it's selfish as well.”

The two sit together for a while longer like that, just watching the TV. Kobra wins the race, making Poison's heart flutter more than they would have expected it to.

They mumble to no one in particular, "This doesn't feel real." The sound is drowned out by the chatter around them and by the bells over the front door. Pony grins but their eyebrows are upturned in concern.

"Does it have to be?"

  


* * *

  


Things are weird, still, but not bad. Everything’s been brighter without the shade of a domino mask. 

Poison stands at the edge of an outdoor racing stadium.

Crowds of people are streaming out, but Poison just stands there a statue, thinking to themself on loop, _this is weird, this is weird, this is weird._

_Not bad. Just weird._

They find the Kobra Kid on the track itself, standing over his bike and clutching a handmade trophy. Around him are fans and reporters, for both the Zones and the City, and Kobra speaks into a microphone excitedly. Poison can’t hear the words, but they watch his lips move. Then they watch his face. His hair. His neck, his body. It's Kobra Kid. Their brother. Older now but still they brother.

As the crowd thins, Kobra breaks free and meets Poison halfway.

They confess before he gets the chance to speak: “I don’t know why I’m here.”

“Poison?” Kobra’s brows are furrowed in a confused shock. “I thought you were _dead_.”

They reply lowly, avoiding eye contact, “You don’t have to speak to me. If you told me to leave, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Where did you _go_? You disappeared.”

“You stopped responding when I reached out… I was trying to be respectful.”

“I got busy. I didn’t mean to - fuck…” He backs up, breathless. “Ghoulie and Jet - they said they were going no contact but I never - I wouldn’t have - you just dropped off the face of the earth and I assumed that you’d…” He bites his lip. “You’re alive.”

And suddenly Poison is being hugged, securely held in place.

Poison struggles with their words, stuttering like a fish, before they can choke out “I’m getting better. I’m trying to get better you know.”

“That’s good, that’s so so good.” Kobra nuzzles his head against their shoulder and from the tone of his voice Poison can tell he’s tearing up.

“This is weird.” 

“I‘m sorry, I can -” He pulls away.

“No! It’s not bad. Just weird.”

And with that Kobra is hugging them again.

That afternoon Poison moves in with Kobra.

Sometimes Kobra’s boyfriend comes over, but for the following weeks it's just the two of them again for the most part. It's not much, but it's more than Poison could've ever asked for. It's also strange. It scares Poison how okay they are with it all, how quickly they’ve fallen into this routine and how easily they’ve grown close with people again. But the world moves on, and this time Party Poison moves on with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this all! I didn't expect this to be a months long project but I'm just glad to finally have the last two chapters up and finished! 
> 
> Like I said at the start, this fic was written along side a sister fic(/alt ending fic) by my friend Malcom which is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23436124 
> 
> Also, like always, kudos and comments are so so appreciated! I'm curious what y'all thought of this! And thank you again!


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